The art showcase lingered in Jian's mind long after it ended. For the first time, he had shared a part of himself that he usually kept hidden, and the response from Hana had been more than he could have hoped for. But even with her reassurance, there was still a sense of unease he couldn't shake.
The next morning, Jian found himself at the park again, sitting under the familiar oak tree with his sketchbook open. The crisp winter air bit at his cheeks, but the quiet atmosphere gave him space to think.
He stared at the blank page in front of him. Normally, his pencil would already be moving, sketching shapes and lines without much thought. But today, his thoughts were too jumbled.
"Mind if I join you?"
Jian looked up to see Hana standing there, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She looked radiant despite the cold, her cheeks pink from the chill.
"Of course," Jian said, scooting over to make room on the bench.
Hana sat down and pulled out a thermos. "Hot cocoa," she said, pouring some into a small cup and handing it to him. "I figured you might need something warm."
Jian smiled, grateful. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping the cocoa and watching as a few children played nearby.
"I really loved your painting," Hana said finally, breaking the silence. "It felt... honest."
Jian glanced at her, unsure of how to respond. "It was," he admitted. "I didn't know how else to explain what I've been feeling."
Hana looked at him, her expression soft. "Jian, I meant what I said before. You don't have to keep everything bottled up. I'm your friend—you can talk to me."
Jian hesitated, the words forming in his throat but refusing to come out. He wanted to tell her everything—about his jealousy, his insecurities, the way he sometimes felt like he didn't belong in her world. But it felt too raw, too vulnerable.
Instead, he said, "I'm trying. It's just... hard sometimes."
Hana nodded as if she understood. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
---
Later that day, Jian decided to visit the campus library. He wasn't looking for anything in particular; he just needed a change of scenery. The library was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of pages and the occasional footsteps of students browsing the shelves.
As he wandered through the aisles, Jian's eyes landed on a photography book with a familiar name on the spine: Tae-hyun.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled the book from the shelf. Flipping through the pages, he saw a series of stunning black-and-white photographs, each one capturing moments of raw emotion. People laughing, crying, dancing—it was as if Tae-hyun had managed to freeze the essence of life itself.
Jian couldn't deny the talent behind the work. It was impressive, even inspiring. But it also made him feel small. Compared to this, his own art felt amateurish, like it was missing something vital.
"You found Tae-hyun's book."
Jian turned to see Hana standing behind him, holding a stack of books.
"I didn't know he was a photographer," Jian said, closing the book.
Hana nodded. "He's been doing it for years. He loves capturing moments, especially ones that feel fleeting."
Jian hesitated before asking, "Are you two... close?"
Hana raised an eyebrow. "Of course. He's my cousin. We grew up together."
"No, I mean... closer than that," Jian said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hana's eyes widened in realization. "Jian, is that what's been bothering you?"
Jian looked down, unable to meet her gaze. "I don't know. I just... I see you with him, and it's like you're in a world I can't reach. He's confident, talented, everything I'm not."
Hana set her books down on a nearby table and sat beside him. "Jian, listen to me. Tae-hyun is my cousin, nothing more. He's like a brother to me. And you? You don't need to compare yourself to him—or anyone else."
Jian nodded, but the knot in his chest didn't fully loosen. "I guess I just... feel like I'm not enough sometimes."
Hana reached over and placed a hand on his. "You are enough, Jian. You've always been enough. But you have to believe that too."
---
Over the next few days, Jian tried to focus on her words, repeating them in his mind like a mantra. He poured his energy into his art, trying to capture the emotions swirling inside him.
One evening, while sketching in his room, he decided to take a different approach. Instead of focusing on his doubts and fears, he started drawing moments of joy—Hana's laughter during their park visits, the warmth of her smile when she encouraged him, the way she always seemed to bring light into his life.
As the drawings came together, Jian felt a sense of clarity he hadn't experienced in weeks.
---
The following weekend, Hana invited Jian to watch one of her rehearsals. The dance studio was buzzing with activity when he arrived, the sound of music filling the air.
Jian watched from the sidelines as Hana and the other dancers moved in perfect harmony. Her movements were graceful yet powerful, each step filled with emotion. It was mesmerizing.
After the rehearsal, Hana approached him, her face flushed from exertion.
"What did you think?" she asked, grabbing a water bottle.
"It was amazing," Jian said honestly. "You were amazing."
Hana smiled. "Thanks. It's not always easy, but it's worth it."
Jian hesitated, then said, "I think I'm starting to understand that."
Hana looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... I've been so focused on what I'm not that I forgot to see what I am," Jian said. "You've been trying to tell me that, haven't you?"
Hana nodded, her smile growing. "It's about time you realized it."
For the first time in a long time, Jian felt a sense of peace. He knew he still had a long way to go, but he was starting to see that he didn't have to walk the path alone.
---
That night, as Jian lay in bed, he picked up the keychain Hana had given him. The wooden flower felt smooth under his fingers, a reminder of everything they had shared so far.
He still didn't have all the answers, and there were still moments when his insecurities tried to creep back in. But for now, he felt a little lighter, a little more hopeful.
And that, he thought, was a good place to start.